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She grinned at him, then sang that note she had instinctively known would shatter the floor. She sang it in the softest of whispers, but the lack of volume made no difference to the intensity of the sound, nor to the cold marble floor beneath her feet, which warmed and shattered with alacrity.
In the confusion that followed, they easily slipped out. She snuck only a single backward glance at the floor. She had been right; it did look better broken.
Chapter Forty
Two Words He Shouldn’t
Numair shed the weight of Veralna’s elite as they stepped out of the Musicale House, if he couldn’t yet shed the facade he maintained for their benefit. It was for this reason they ambled out of the city at a walk when he wanted to coax the horses to a gallop, to see wildness and adrenaline overtake Clare’s face, instead of the melancholy that had settled there in place of the triumph he would have expected.
She had been spectacular. He had expected no less, and yet she still managed to knock the wind from him every time she opened her mouth. He’d heard the Siren’s song before, though it had been years, but he’d never heard it like that. As if every emotion and longing and daring had been drilled into his soul.
They rode past a street musician, her violin case open on the street before her as she played. Abruptly, Clare turned back, deftly loosing her hair to cover the identifying gemstone in her ear. Which was illegal, but he certainly wasn’t going to report her.
He followed her lead, staying behind her and hunching his shoulders in that way that could make people look past him. He hated being recognized, and he’d become adept at avoiding it outside the palace. He wondered why Clare had chosen to stop now. They had already passed half-a-dozen such performers, and try as he might, he could find nothing more distinguishing about this one than any of the others.
While she watched the violinist, he watched her face. It was bereft of most expression, showing neither appreciation nor dislike, only a cool calculation. The song finished with a final draw of the bow across the strings and Clare dismounted, a coin in her hand that was far more than any street musician could expect to find tossed into their case at random.
“A beautiful song.”
The violinist murmured a soft thank you and watched warily as Clare held that coin balanced on her thumb, ready to flick into the case.
“But not perhaps worth quite so much as this, without a word or two spoken as well.”
“What kind of words?” she asked warily.
“I’m curious where musicians such as yourself go when they want to…associate with their peers.”
The woman hesitated, eyes trained on the coin. “The Musicians Guild has several meeting halls open to its members.”
“Ah, but I asked about musicians like you. And you can’t afford the Musicians Guild.”
Color stained the woman’s cheeks—anger, he thought, rather than embarrassment. Perhaps that was why Clare had chosen this one, recognizing a kindred spirit.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I sing a little myself.”
“You can afford the Musicians Guild.” The words were a little accusatory and a lot bitter.
“I couldn’t four days ago. And I’m afraid its mistress made a rather…unfortunate impression on me.”
“So, what? You want to associate with us out of spite?”
Clare shrugged. “Something like that.”
The woman hesitated.
“I can find it myself”—Clare walked the coin across her fingers before returning it to its prior place atop her thumb—“but it’s more lucrative for you if you part with the information.”
A hardness snapped into the woman’s eyes. “Counteroffer. If you still want to go in two days, I’ll take you myself. But you pay now.”
“Paying now is a fool’s bargain.” Clare flipped her the coin. “But I’ll make it just this once. What’s your name?”
“Amarrah.”
“I’ll meet you here, two days from tonight, Amarrah.” She remounted Kialla and turned. Numair followed, waiting until they were well enough away from the violinist to speak.
“Why her and not the others?”
